Seo Eun-jae really did look like he was waiting for a kiss.
His face, tilted in close with a smile, seemed slightly excited, almost flushed with anticipation. Honestly, Seon-woo wanted nothing more than to push Eun-jae’s face away with his hand, but he didn’t dare out of fear for what might come after.
So then… was he really supposed to kiss him like this?
If this were a game controlled by keypad commands, he probably would’ve selected the “Kiss” option without hesitation. But this wasn’t a game. He still remembered how his spine had tingled from that eerily vivid sensation the last time he kissed Eun-jae to lift a status ailment.
As he hesitated, Eun-jae asked,
“You’re not going to? Even after asking me to make a wish…?”
The question came laced with a teasing smile at the end.
Seon-woo was caught so off guard he couldn’t answer right away. Sure, he’d asked about the wish, but he hadn’t expected this kind of response. In the end, all that came out of his mouth was a weak, uncertain murmur.
“Seo Eun-jae-ssi…”
After saying his name, he tried to come up with something—anything—to follow it up with, but nothing came to mind. He had no idea how to reject this smoothly and get past the situation unscathed.
It felt almost absurd now to think that he’d resolved to follow the original game route, conquer Seo Eun-jae, and see the ending. That resolve was nowhere to be found now, buried under the weight of his current awkwardness.
“If you’re not going to… should I do it instead?”
Eun-jae replied with total nonchalance, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Seon-woo had assumed he’d at least pretend to be a little embarrassed—even if he didn’t actually backtrack—but the way he said it, like it was nothing, caught Seon-woo completely off guard.
He’d hoped this could be brushed off as a joke at best. That hope shattered in an instant. And just then, as if perfectly timed, a set of choices appeared before Seon-woo.
▶ (Kiss Seo Eun-jae.)
▶ (Let Seo Eun-jae kiss you.)
Of course it shows up now…
He’d dared to hope he could get through this without a choice prompt appearing, but apparently the system had just been waiting for Eun-jae to say he’d make the move instead. Now, there was no way out. He had to pick one—either kiss him or be kissed.
Seon-woo let out a long sigh internally, a tightness forming in his chest. Eun-jae, still watching him closely, let out another small laugh. It sounded somewhere between amused and resigned.
“So that’s how it is…”
It sounded like he was about to say something important. But his words were cut short. A beam of bright flashlight light flooded across Seon-woo and Eun-jae’s faces.
Eun-jae turned his head, startled, toward the source of the light.
So did Seon-woo.
He wouldn’t have been able to explain why, even if someone asked. But at that moment, he felt a flicker of hope. The hope that maybe—just maybe—that flashlight belonged to Gwak Seung-hyeon.
“There you two are!”
But the voice that rang out was nothing like the one he’d been hoping for.
Before he could even realize it, Seon-woo’s face had twisted into a deep frown, disappointment etched across his brow as he looked in that direction.
It seemed a search party had been organized to find them.
A group of about five or six people was approaching. Seon-woo quickly suppressed his lingering disappointment and turned to Eun-jae, intending to at least say he was glad they’d been rescued. But Eun-jae didn’t look the slightest bit relieved. In fact, he wore the same frown as Seon-woo.
Well, considering they’d just been on the verge of kissing in a secluded place, he probably wasn’t thrilled about being interrupted either.
“That’s a relief,” Seon-woo offered quietly.
Eun-jae, sounding listless and lost in thought, replied, “Yeah…”
The search party surged toward them, immediately bombarding Seon-woo with questions.
“D-Director! Are you alright?”
Seon-woo was about to respond that he was fine when he realized the person addressing him was a familiar face—it was one of Eun-jae’s teammates. Judging by the situation, they must’ve set out to search after the two of them had fallen behind due to Eun-jae’s injury.
“I’m fine. But more importantly…”
Eun-jae’s injury needed to be dealt with first. Glancing down at his ankle, Seon-woo continued with practiced ease,
“I think Seo Eun-jae-ssi should be treated first.”
“It’s just a minor twist. I’m fine.”
Eun-jae’s response was immediate.
He’d been insisting the whole time that it was nothing, just a small sprain—but it didn’t sound convincing in the slightest. Especially now, with his ankle so swollen it was visible even at a glance.
“You really need to have a better sense of your own condition—”
Seon-woo let out a sigh, about to scold him.
“There you are. Thanks for the hard work.”
A familiar voice called out behind them, slightly delayed.
Seon-woo froze, his heart sinking like a rock. His chest clenched with a guilty weight, and he couldn’t bring himself to turn toward the voice. It felt like a wall of defenses he didn’t even know he had melted under that voice and let it straight in. He’d told himself it was just a casual thought—Maybe it’s Gwak Seung-hyeon who came to find us. But his reaction now made it painfully clear. He’d been hoping for it far more than he’d admitted to himself. Or maybe it wasn’t hope at all—but fear.
“Team leader?”
While Seon-woo remained frozen, Eun-jae asked bluntly. Even without looking, Seon-woo could picture the expression on Seung-hyeon’s face.
No tension at all—just that easy, amused smile.
“What brings you here?”
Eun-jae’s tone was clearly irritated, even at a glance. He didn’t seem the least bit pleased that Seung-hyeon had come looking for them. And by the time Seon-woo had calmed down enough to move again, he slowly turned his head in their direction.
Seung-hyeon responded with a soft smile, utterly relaxed—nothing like Eun-jae’s bristling wariness. There was no edge to him, no malice—just that calm demeanor.
“Our dear Assistant Manager Seo said the Director had disappeared with him alone. How could I possibly stay still after hearing that?”
But it seemed his expectation—that everything would be the same as usual—was off the mark. Just as he’d guessed, Seung-hyeon was smiling, but the expression lacked its usual energy.
Maybe it was because they were out searching for missing people, and he couldn’t exactly act shameless like always. Or perhaps he really wasn’t feeling well.
“Weren’t you sick?”
The question Seon-woo had been holding in his heart came out of Eun-jae’s mouth instead. The only difference was that while Seon-woo had thought it silently, Eun-jae asked with clear displeasure in his voice.
Seung-hyeon surely understood what Eun-jae was getting at, but he answered without hesitation.
“Thanks for worrying about me.”
“How does someone who’s sick end up finding us—”
“The team contacted me.”
Seung-hyeon replied smoothly to everything, and all the while, his eyes stayed fixed on Eun-jae alone. Standing beside Eun-jae, Seon-woo silently watched the two, his insides twisting with conflicted thoughts.
He wanted to ask Seung-hyeon if he’d tracked their location again. He wanted to ask if his condition had really improved, or if he’d been faking it all along. And if he had been faking… was it because of him? But more than anything—he wanted to ask why he wouldn’t look his way.
Then again, was that really a question worth asking?
The last time they saw each other, Seon-woo had responded to Seung-hyeon’s emergency CPR with a punch to the face, then never contacted him again. Seung-hyeon had no way of knowing why Seon-woo had suddenly spiraled into hyperventilation, or why his attitude had changed so abruptly. Even if he was angry or hurt, even if he couldn’t stand the sight of him, Seon-woo had no right to feel disappointed.
And yet, somehow… he couldn’t shake the unpleasant feeling.
Had Seung-hyeon also suddenly decided to pursue Seo Eun-jae, just like in the original storyline? If that was the case, Seon-woo almost wished he’d shown that attitude from the beginning. Instead of extending unnecessary kindness that had only stirred guilt and left Seon-woo constantly on edge.
After a brief silence, Seon-woo finally cut in, interrupting their conversation.
“Seo Eun-jae-ssi. Let’s go.”
“Huh?”
Eun-jae smoothed out his frown instantly and turned toward him.
For a brief moment, Seon-woo thought that maybe if he had just gone along with Eun-jae’s request for a kiss, things wouldn’t have gotten to this point. But that thought vanished as quickly as it came.
He chided himself for it. This indecisive, half-hearted attitude wouldn’t do anyone any good.
“We need to get your ankle treated.”
Seon-woo spoke firmly, forcing away any lingering thoughts. Eun-jae lit up almost immediately.
“Ah, right!”
He stepped forward—only to wince and stop short as pain flared through his ankle.
Seon-woo reached out instinctively to steady him, supporting his body just enough to prevent him from falling, then handed him off to the nearby team members.
He turned to follow them—
“Director.”
—when Seung-hyeon’s voice stopped him.
Seon-woo paused mid-step but didn’t turn around.
“Director.”
Seung-hyeon called him again in the same calm, steady voice as always. He couldn’t possibly think Seon-woo hadn’t heard—he was just waiting for him to turn back.
Don’t look back.
That thought rang clear in Seon-woo’s mind.
He had told himself not to look back, but by the time he came to his senses, he was already facing him.
Seung-hyeon stood there, silently looking back at Seon-woo.
His face looked paler than usual. Maybe it was because he’d been wandering around the mountain in the rain, but it also seemed like his claim of being sick hadn’t been a lie after all.
For a fleeting moment, Seon-woo thought—he wished it were just the two of them here. Just him and Seung-hyeon in this space. But Eun-jae and the others were close by, and because of that, he couldn’t bring himself to speak.
Without a word, Seon-woo turned away again. He hadn’t expected anything—but then he heard Seung-hyeon’s footsteps, firm and purposeful, striding toward him. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
Just moments ago, he hadn’t wanted to be stopped—so then why now…? Before he could finish the thought, Seung-hyeon had already reached him.
From behind, he grabbed Seon-woo’s wrist. And in a soft, almost whispering voice, he called out again.
“Director…”
It was instinctual—utterly reflexive. He couldn’t help it.
The moment he heard that voice, Seon-woo turned his head and met Seung-hyeon’s gaze. It was still dark out, and yet—strangely, impossibly—his smile was the one thing Seon-woo could see perfectly clearly.
